


The Darkness is Bearable With You

by Rumaan



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 18:10:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5058739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumaan/pseuds/Rumaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Wanheda, Ruler of the Underworld, Clarke has been lonely in her cold, dark realm until she strays above ground and sees him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Darkness is Bearable With You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tryalittlejoytomorrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryalittlejoytomorrow/gifts).



> This is a belated birthday fic for the lovely [tryalittlejoytomorrow](http://tryalittlejoytomorrow.tumblr.com/)! It's not beta'd and hasn't been edited as thoroughly as I would like, but I did not want it to become ridiculously late for her birthday!
> 
> Hope you like, my dear.
> 
> Also, I've stripped away Bellamy's darkness in this. It's vaguely implied that he can be dark (as Persephone is as death goddess), but the focus was on his role as a spring god, so I've focused on the lighter sides of his character.

His laughter is the first happy thing Clarke hears for a very long time. It’s a beautiful sound and it pulls her towards its direction involuntarily.

She has been down in the depths of darkness for so long that she has forgotten how happiness sounds.

And then she sees how happiness looks – all tanned skin, freckles and smiles, and she wonders why it has taken her so long to venture out.

Peeking out from the shadows of the dark trees, Clarke watches as the man bustles about the meadow, making florae bloom as a crown filled with colourful and fragrant flowers sits crooked in his black dishevelled curls. He is surrounded by young nymphs, who dance and make music and the scene is so merry that Clarke feels a yearning to join in. To forget what she had done, who she has become and frolic happily amongst the flowers.

She stays until the sun sinks below the horizon and the joyful band of revellers leave the meadow of flowers. A sense of loss settles heavily in her stomach and as she returns to home, the wails of the dead seem louder and more hopeless than ever.

 _This is my fate,_ she tells herself. _This is what I have become and I must bear it._

Nevertheless, the loss of contact with the living leaves her empty and drained. She is alive, but she feels as dead as everyone else in her realm.

She tries to stay in her kingdom the next day, but the light calls to her.

However, the meadow is silent today, the flowers still bloom, but there is no one here. Clarke picks a strongly scented flower to smell, but it withers in her hand and she remembers then that she is Wanheda and everything she touches dies.

She slinks back to the land of dead. This is her burden and she cannot escape it.

For the next moon, Clarke resists the temptation to track the flower god down. He has become the symbol of happiness for her and she will not corrupt or taint it. Instead, she focuses on her duties; the shepherding of lost souls.

Yet her heart cannot be silenced forever, and now she has seen the sun once more, smelt the fresh air of spring and seen the pleasure of the living, she needs to return. She cannot remain alone in the darkness any more. She craves contact with the living.

So she returns to the surface and hears his laughter once more.

He is back in the meadow with a small child this time. A little girl who squeals with delight as he plays with her and shows her how to bring forth plants. Love shines from him and Clarke aches with a physical need to have someone look at her like that once more. She is weary of the frightened and awed whispers that follow her everywhere. It was the reason why she stopped coming above ground, despite Lexa’s invitations for her to join the summits. Eventually the invites stopped coming and Clarke was left to rule her kingdom in peace. No one but the dead ventures there.

She wonders what would happen if she invited him to visit, but then she thinks of how the darkness would sink his skin to grey, of how the light would die from his eyes and his smiles would dry up.

Tears drop from her eyes causing the grass around her to shrink and blacken and she beats a hasty retreat. She does not deserve to feel joy, not after what she did. All those innocents who now roam her realm sacrificed by her.

Lexa had called her a hero, had made her Wanheda – Commander of Death – as a tribute, but Clarke does not see her role as an honour but as penance. She had saved her people, but at the cost not only of bringing the Titans of the Mountain down, but the whole mountain itself.

“You have been crying, Wanheda” Maya observes as she serves her meal that evening.

“It is nothing,” Clarke says dismissively. Her emotions must be locked away and not allowed to interfere with her responsibilities.

“You are always so sad when you return from above ground, Wanheda. What is it that makes you melancholy?”

She sighs. Maya is her greatest regret. The girl had not deserved to die, but as a child of the Mountain, she had been part of the cost Clarke had paid to free her people. Therefore, she owes it to Maya to be honest.

“I miss the land of the living, Maya,” she says and instantly feels guilty. She may be able to go above ground, but Maya can’t. She is chained to this realm through her death.

However, Maya smiles at her and there is no bitterness there. “Of course you do. You should not be alone, Wanheda. You are always alone.”

“It is my obligation to be here,” she replies.

“You are the Commander of the Dead, yes, but that does not mean you have to pretend _you_ are dead.”

“What do you mean?”

“You are alive and you need companionship. It is not fitting that you surround yourself with the souls of the dead all the time. There is no need for you to cut yourself off.”

“I do not deserve to live,” she bites.

“How come you are the only one who needs carry this burden, Wanheda? You are not the only person who waged war on the Titans. How come you must be punished but Heda gets to live and rule the ground?”

“Maya!” Clarke admonishes. “You should not speak of Commander Lexa that way. Her wisdom forged the alliance and she rules over a peaceful realm.”

“And yet, she does not punish herself the way you do,” Maya adds unrepentantly.

Maya’s words have enough truth to them that they haunt Clarke for the rest of the evening and into the night. She tosses and turns in her bed, unable to sleep, thinking constantly about why she has to carry this burden alone. Why she cannot have friends or even a lover.

An image of warm brown eyes, a dimpled chin and a strong jawline enters her mind and she wishes nothing more than to banish it away, but she can’t. He intrigues her, this laughing god, and she wants to know more about him.

Maya sends her an approving smile when she leaves to go above ground once more. Her support shouldn’t matter to Clarke but it does.

He is there alone today, but he hums merrily as he sows. She is not sure what he is creating, but it is beautiful and she wants nothing more than to leave the dark treeline and feel the warm sun on her face. Would he talk to her if she crept out? Or would he flee in terror? As the centuries have slipped past, she knows her reputation with the other gods has become dark. No one remembers her, they just remember how she obliterated an entire people.

“Who’s there?” he calls out and she sways towards him, enticed by the low, husky cadence of his tone.

But fear catches up to her and instead of stepping out and facing him, she melts into the shadows and returns back to her realm.

Maya is waiting eagerly for her when she returns.

“Did you speak to anyone?” she asks excitedly, but then she catches sight of Clarke’s slumped shoulders and her face falls.

“Don’t, Maya!” Clarke exclaims, upset with the other girl’s visible disappointment. “What can I say? He would probably be scared of me anyway.”

“He?”

Clarke looks away, uncomfortable with the thought of sharing him with anyone. Even just to speak about him makes her realise how little she has to offer someone like him. All she can bring is a tainted soul and hands covered in blood.

Sensitive as always to her mood, Maya does not push. Just brings Clarke some freshly squeezed pomegranate juice.

However, she cannot forget him. No matter how much she wishes to and days later the plan crawls from the darkest crevice of her mind. She dismisses it at first, stunned at how diabolical she can be. Yet it won’t go, it stays at the forefront of her thoughts, tormenting her with how easy it would be. She makes strategies as she watches him from the gloom even though she hates herself for doing so.

Nonetheless, she longs for him and her darkness calls out for her to just seize him. Make him hers and bring some of his warmth down into her cold world. Her conscience bats the idea away, highlights all the ways this could go wrong, tells herself how much he would hate her, but the plan is persistent. It eats away at her, stealing her appetite and any peace of mind she had left.

Then one day, she cracks. The sleep deprivation catches up to her and she takes her horse and chariot and bursts forth into the sunlit meadow. The bright light dazes her for a moment but then she sees him, his mouth agape at her appearance and she ignores the good part of herself that shouts about how wrong this is wrong, that she should approach him as normal, talk to him and invite him down into her world.

Instead, the hungry side grabs him, pulling his shocked frame onto her chariot, his head banging against the side, and disappears back into the hole in the ground, closing it up behind her.

When she looks down, her heart pounding at her bold move, she sees that he is unconscious and her breath hitches in her throat. She has damaged him because that is all she can do – hurt and maim people. Shame fills her up, but it is too late now. His companions saw her and what she did. There is no going back.

So, she clutches him to her and breathes in his scent. He smells of sunshine and warmth, of soil and the outdoors and it’s the most delicious thing she has ever smelt. His skin is hot to her touch as if he carries the sun inside himself and it heats her chilly hand. His dark skin contrasts with her own paleness, looking vibrant and full of life beside her own deathly pallor.

Maya gasps when she enters the palace, spotting him immediately as two of her servants are carrying him behind her. Her friend flutters ineffectively around the levitating god.

“What have you done, Wanheda?” she asks. “Who is this?”

“I don’t know his name,” Clarke admits. “I’ve seen him on the ground and I can’t stop thinking about him.”

“So you invited him here?” Maya asks eagerly, her voice excited before it becomes confused. “But why is he unconscious?”

Clarke bites her lip nervously. “I didn’t invite him,” she whispers.

Maya looks at her blankly for a moment but then she seems to understand and consternation fills her face before she asks hesitantly, “Wanheda, have you…stolen this god?”

Unable to face her friend, Clarke adverts her face but she nods. She wishes she can’t hear the gasp from Maya, but it’s loud and fills the quiet room.

“But-” Maya starts to say before she breaks off and says quietly instead, “Which room shall I ready for him?”

Clarke looks at her then. There is sadness in her friend’s eyes, but a sliver of understanding. Maya isn’t completely surprised that she could do such a thing – just take someone from the ground and bring them back with her.

Even if she didn’t have regrets before then she has them now. She doesn’t want Maya to think she is capable of such things. That she is the kind of monster who just seizes someone she wants without permission.

 _But that is precisely who you are,_ a voice in her head says. _That is what you have done._

“Put him in the rooms overlooking the wilderness,” she orders. “He might like it there.”

Maya looks sceptical but she doesn’t say anything else, just nods and leaves her.

\----------

A couple of hours later and Clarke gets the summons she has been waiting for.  Indra comes for her full of stern disapproval.

“Heda wants to see you,” she says with no preliminaries.

“Can it wait? I’m a little busy?”

“I was told not to return without you.”

Clarke sighs. She needs to get this over and done with, she supposes, but she never likes going to Polis. It’s what she fought for and the reminder is never welcome.

She calls for Maya and tells her to keep an eye on the god in a quiet voice that she knows will not reach Indra’s ears. Indra dislikes the underworld and she specifically dislikes the shades from the Mountain. She keeps a distance from Maya, eyeing her warily, with her hand placed on her sword hilt as if Maya was not already dead and could actually harm her.

“Let’s go,” Clarke says and summons her chariot.

Lexa’s court is in an uproar. There’s a group of sobbing nymphs huddled in front of Lexa’s throne and the other gods stare at her uneasily. It’s always the way when Clarke is summoned. She makes the others uncomfortable. If anyone had underestimated her before she took on the Titans and won, they don’t now. It was the reason why they had rallied behind Lexa when she took the throne and asked Clarke to rule the underworld, despite her less than honourable actions during the war and despite Clarke winning the war. They prefer to deal with someone like Lexa who tows the political norms rather than a wildcard like Clarke.

“Wanheda,” Lexa says. “It is lovely to see you grace my court once more.”

“Heda, it is an honour to be invited,” she replies, observing the protocols.

“I wish I could say that I have asked you here for pleasure only, but these nymphs have come to me with a tale I find difficult to believe. Fox, come forward and share with Wanheda what you told me earlier.”

Fox, a timid looking girl who is all long limbs and straight hair, steps away from the other nymphs. Her eyes are red and puffy from crying and Clarke feels a stab of remorse that her actions have caused this young girl to cry.

“We were in the meadow, Heda, when the earth opened from beneath us and a chariot pulled by a mighty black horse burst forth. I recognise the driver as Wanheda and she snatched Bellamy up from our midst and disappeared once more into the ground. There was no trace left of Bellamy apart from the wreath that had fallen from his head,” Fox says and holds up the flower crown for everyone to see.

Bellamy. His name is Bellamy.

It suits him, she thinks. A pretty name that rolls off the tongue like a song. One that should be sung in a sunlit meadow full of flowers.

“And you are sure that it was Wanheda who took him?” Lexa asks.

Fox shoots Clarke a scared look, as if she fears retribution if she identifies her as the kidnapper. “Yes, Heda, I am positive.”

“Do you deny that you have this Bellamy with you, Wanheda?”

“No,” Clarke says, knowing that there is no point in lying. Everyone will know it for a lie and she will look foolish.

The other gods break out into whispers and Lexa steps down from her throne and walks towards Clarke. “Please come for a walk, Wanheda,” she says and Clarke knows that it is an order.

When they are out of eyeshot, Lexa puts her hand on Clarke’s shoulder and says. “Why did you take him? You never leave your realm these days. What made you do so now?”

“I longed for company,” Clarke says truthfully.

There is no point in employing artifice with Lexa. She knows the worst of Clarke already.

“If you wished for companionship you could always come to Polis,” Lexa says with a meaningful look.

She looks away. Once upon a time, she might have been thrilled with such a hint, but that had been before the Mountain. Lexa had left Clarke to deal with the Titans, had given her no options but one. To destroy the mountain and everyone in it. Lexa had forced the responsibility for all those deaths onto her.

It had soured her relationship with Lexa, who had tried unsuccessfully to rekindle something with her a few times.

“Why Bellamy?” Lexa asks.

“He is full of sunshine and happiness,” she replies and it’s true. He has come to represent that for her.

“I did not think you looked for that in a consort.”

Clarke shrugs. How could she tell Lexa that she has been in the darkness too long? That someone who would take the same murky road that she had could not give her the same contentment as someone who loved abundantly. It was plain to see that Bellamy loves with all his heart, and she desires that and would settle for nothing less.

Lexa moves away, disappointment written on her face. “His nymphs are not happy. They are calling for me to order you to return him.”

“You have no power in the underworld. It is my realm,” Clarke says bullishly.

“I am Heda of the gods. I can make you return him.”

“I am Wanheda. Your rules do not apply in my dominion.”

Lexa turns her piercing gaze on her and says, “I do not want this to become ugly, Clarke, and it could.”

“Give him to me. You owe me that at least.”

“You want him that much?” Lexa asks and her expression is pained.

“I do,” Clarke replies simply. There is nothing she can say that will make Lexa feel better. She cannot trust her again and where she does not trust, she cannot love.

Lexa’s eyes grow cold and she nods, sharp and decisively. “Then you may have him.”

“What about his nymphs?”

“They are unimportant. They will cry for a few days and then they will attach themselves to some other god and forget all about this Bellamy.”

The meaning is clear for Clarke; that Bellamy is worth little. His retinue is worth little. It is easy for Lexa to grant her permission to keep him because he is nothing in the scheme of things. It is this she likes the least about Lexa. Her coldness towards those she deems unimportant.

Clarke buries the awful thought that she has become like this. That in seizing Bellamy for her own, she decrees that her desires are more important than his freedom. She cannot dwell on this. She has done what she has done and Lexa has given her permission to keep her stolen bounty.

\----------

It is not until late into the afternoon that the god awakes. Since her return, Clarke has been sitting beside him, waiting for the moment, but as his eyelids begin to flicker, she finds that nothing she has mentally prepared comes to mind.

He gazes up at her for a long moment clearly confused. “Who are you?” he asks and then he looks around him, at the muted greys and frowns. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the underworld,” Clarke replies and then realises she probably could have broken it to him a lot nicer.

The furrow between his eyebrows remains. “I don’t remember dying,” he says. “I am sure losing immortality is something that I would remember.”

She doesn’t feel up to having a discussion about how she kidnapped him. It’s not really until now that she thinks about how little she thought this plan through. It was all about desires and wants rather than afterwards and actual consequences and now she has him and been given permission to keep him here, she’s a little lost.

“You’re the god of flowers?” she asks in a desperate need to try and turn the conversation away from _hi, I’m Clarke and I stole you from your lovely meadow._

 “Spring,” he says with a smile which fades pretty quickly. “Which includes flowers. Although if I’ve died then I guess I’m not really the god of spring anymore. I really don’t remember dying.”

She fidgets uncomfortably and watches his memory returns and understanding dawns on him and he turns his eyes back to her with an accusing look. “You stole me!”

Clarke can feel the heat in her cheeks and she looks down at the floor. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

“You’re Wanheda, ruler of the underworld.”

Annoyed, she looks back up at him and says sharply, “It’s Clarke actually. Wanheda is just a title.”

“Why did you abduct me? Wait, was it you I could sense over the past couple of months? There was someone in my meadow who shouldn’t have been there. Was it you?”

She nods and then swallows, her throat painfully dry as he continues to stare at her for answers. “Yeah, I…er...have been to your meadow and then I took you.”

“Why?” he asks angrily, the tick in his jaw jumping.

This was the part that Clarke had given no thought whatsoever to. How do you explain to someone that they were the epitome of everything she had no longer had and everything she yearned for with all her heart? And then tell them that you kidnapped them so you could have that. It was breath taking in its selfishness.

“I wanted you,” she says, fully aware that it’s a terrible explanation.

“You _wanted_ me? So, what? You just _stole_ me?”

“Pretty much,” she replies giving him a weak smile.

Bellamy is not amused. His face darkens and becomes stern and it’s all the fears that Clarke had coming true. Everything she touches withers away and his happiness is no exception.

“You have to return me. I have duties and responsibilities. I have nymphs that need me.”

Clarke thinks of Fox and her puffy eyes and guilt overwhelms her. Leaping out of her chair, she says, “You live here now and you should make the best of it.”

As she leaves the room, she finds Maya outside. “Is he awake?” she asks.

“Yes,” Clarke replies. “Bring him some food and keep him company.”

Maya looks closely at her. “Are you okay, Wanheda?”

She sets her jaw mulishly. She is not going to give into her emotions now. She will not let herself wallow in the remorse she feels for her actions. “Fine,” she says, waving Maya away, who hovers for a split second before going into the room where Bellamy is.

Clarke keeps her tears unshed until she reaches her own bed, then she throws herself down and cries for the person she has become. The kind who allows darkness to consume them and then steals the god of spring.

\------------

The next morning, Maya comes to her with breakfast.

“How is Bellamy?” Clarke asks immediately.

“He is refusing to eat.”

“What? Why?”

“He says that if he eats then he will not be able to return to the ground.”

Bellamy is right. If he eats so much a pomegranate seed then he is bound to the underworld. Part of her wishes that he was not aware of this.

“But I have already told him that he lives here now.”

Maya gives her a look and says with a little glimmer of satisfaction, “It appears you have kidnapped a stubborn god.”

Flinging the covers back, Clarke dresses rapidly before rushing into his room. He is standing at the window, staring at the grey wilderness that runs down one side of her palace.

“Does nothing grow here?” he asks her without turning around.

“I do not know. I have never tried.”

“I cannot live somewhere that has no vegetation,” he declares.

Clarke frowns. “I don’t think you understand how it works here. This is the underworld. The realm of the dead. Nothing is meant to grow.”

“But you are alive and I am alive,” he says pointedly as he turns to face her. “So not everything here is dead. Whilst I am here, I will work on this wilderness and turn into something other than just depressing.”

It is good that he is thinking in terms of a project and a garden of sorts would be nice. She was sure that Maya would enjoy it, too. However, that stubborn ‘whilst’ remains in her mind. He is not thinking long term, just something to while away his time with.

“Whilst I am more than happy for you to do something, you need to get this notion that you are returning to the ground out of your mind. You live here now.”

“Says who?” he asks a little smugly.

“Heda has decreed that I am allowed to keep you.”

His face falls a little at that and then anger returns, his lips thinning into a small line. “Why was I not consulted?”

Clarke shrugs. “You were still out cold.”

“So, my fate has been decided? Just like that,” he says clicking his fingers. “I am something to be given away to you. A mere object.”

“No!” Clarke exclaims.

“But that is how you have treated me. You saw me and you wanted me so you took me. I had heard the tales of Wanheda’s ruthlessness, but I thought them naught but legend. However, you have shown me that the stories are right.”

Despair washes over her at the truth of his words. She is the person she feared. Someone so lonely and damaged that they take what they want rather than ask. Unwanted moisture fills her eyes and she turns away before she sheds any tears in front of him. She does not want him to see how much his words have affected her.

“I will send Maya to you. She can help you with what you need for your garden.”

\----------

Clarke watches them over the next few days from where she has holed herself up in her study. She is amazed as he gets the quiet Maya to smile readily, laugh at whatever he says to her as they go about turning the garden into something sombre but beautiful.

He plants trees: aspens, black poplars and willows. There are flowers, too: narcissus, monkhood and bright splashes of vivid red poppies. It’s the most beautiful thing in her realm and the shades flock to see it.

Clarke cannot stay away, either. She walks in the garden, away from where Bellamy and Maya work, touching the delicate petals and resting under the boughs of the willow trees. Nothing withers from her touch and sobs crowd her throat. Even as unhappy as he is, Bellamy has brought something special here. Something that grows and thrives and _lives_.

Taken aback by the beauty surrounding her in the bleak world, she misses the way Bellamy watches her each day. How Maya whispers in his ears and his angry expression turns to something more thoughtful and sad.

Then one day he comes to her and asks, “Why did you abduct me? Why didn’t you just come and speak to me?”

She is confused by his question and she flounders over a couple of half formed words before she just stares blankly at him.

“If you had spoken to me, asked me to come down here and shown me this wilderness, I would have begged for the opportunity to create a garden here. It is so bleak that it just cries out for living things.”

“You would?” she asks, surprised.

“Of course. It has been a challenge to find what grows here and what doesn’t and I cannot resist a challenge.”

“But no one wants to come here,” she says stupidly.

“Have you ever asked anyone?”

“Well…no, but-”

He interrupts her with a smile and her heart misses a beat to see that he still smiles and that it has lost none of its warmth. “Clarke,” he says and she jumps to hear her name on someone’s lips. Everyone calls her Wanheda these days. “You cannot bury yourself away down here and then wonder why no one comes to see you.”

“So if I had invited you, you would’ve come?”

“Yes.”

“But instead I kidnapped you and now you hate me,” she says sadly.

“I do not hate you, Clarke, but I am angry with how you stole me. It was wrong. You cannot just take people.”

Her eyes fly to his and she sees the truth to his words. There is no hatred in his gaze, only sympathy and understanding. She wonders just what Maya has been saying to him that makes him look at her like he knows her. However, it also makes her more hopeful than she has been in a long while. Maybe, she has not ruined everything after all. He could come to love it here, possibly even come to love her.

“Would you have lunch with me then, Bellamy?” she asks with a tentative smile.

“No,” he replies abruptly and the optimism that had infused her dissipates.

“Oh,” she says, going to turn away from him.

A warm hand on her shoulder stops here and she looks curiously back at him. “I will not eat whilst I am kept here a prisoner. It should be my choice whether I remain or not. Perhaps you could come and help in the garden this afternoon, though?”

Clarke grabs his olive branch – one that she is sure she does not deserve, but will take it anyway. She wants to bask in his presence the way his nymphs did and the way Maya does. 

They settle into a routine after that. Every afternoon, Clarke takes time to spend a few hours helping in the garden. They talk – and not just about plants. It’s companionable and it’s the happiest she has been in a long while.

Sometimes Bellamy will stare off into the distance wistfully, but his smiles do not dry up and neither does his ability to make others laugh. He is also good with the new shades, especially those who are young and still attached to life. He is so obviously full of life that they attach themselves to him until they accept their death. Together, they make a good team and she starts to believe that this could actually work.

Then one day, Bellamy frowns as he brings forth an impressive avenue of black poplars.

“What is it?” Clarke asks.

“Something’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?” She asks, confused. There is nothing wrong. It’s her realm and she can sense any disturbance within it, and everything is running just as it ought.

“Things are dying.”

Giving him an unimpressed look, she says, “Of course they are! This is the underworld.”

He shoots her an exasperated glare. “Not here! Up on the ground. My plants are dying and they shouldn’t be.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

“I’m the god of spring, Clarke, it means I can sense when flora dies. It’s literally my job to keep them alive!”

The sarcasm is possibly the most surprising aspect of Bellamy along with his ability to seemingly forgive her. It makes her like him even more. There’s an edge to him that you wouldn’t think the god of spring would have.

“The ground is becoming barren, but that’s impossible,” he says fretfully before he turns to her. “I need to go up there. I need to return and see what is wrong.”

Clarke wants to object straight away. He cannot leave her. She knows that the underworld will be even more desolate without him. Maya would miss him horribly as would the young shades he has taken under his wing. Yet their pain at his absence would be nothing compared to hers. There is possibility that his leaving would destroy her. He has brought light back into her world along with smiles and laughter, something she had begun to think she had forgotten. 

She wants nothing more than to refuse. To deny him this as she knows that the likelihood of him returning is slim.

However, he is right. He is not an object for her to own and despite how much it will devastate her, she has to let him go.

“Go,” she says. “You are needed.”

He searches her face keenly before he asks, “You are sure.”

Smiling bravely, Clarke puts her hand on his forearm, making the most of the heat whilst she can. “You were right. It was wrong for me to take you and it is wrong for me to keep you here. However, I want you to know that the invitation to come back and visit is always open.”

He hesitates, eyes sweeping around his garden before they return to her. “You will not come up with me?”

“It is not my place, Bellamy. I should not have strayed up there as much as I did to watch you. I am Wanheda and my duty lies here.”

He grimaces at the title, but he cups her cheek and says, “I will come back and make sure you have not killed my garden.”

She gives a little laugh and manages to cut it off before it breaks into a sob. She nods at him, unable to trust her voice as she desires nothing more than to beg him to stay.

\------------

The next week passes slowly. Before Bellamy, time had no real meaning for her. How could it when she was immortal, but now she feels it as it crawls past, each day dragging its feet. She misses him, more than she thought possible. For a brief moment, he had brought colour into her world and now everything has leeched back into grey. Several times she almost goes above ground to watch him once more. To see him work his magic in his meadow the same way that he had done with his garden here.

But she drives the temptation away. She knows she is not strong enough to leave him there. She would drag him back down with her and she cannot do that. If she is to be worthy of having anyone in her life, then she needs to prove that she is not that person.

Then nine days after he has gone, Maya bursts into her study, a grin splitting her face wide open.

“He’s back!” she declares dramatically.

“What?” Clarke asks, puzzled.

“Bellamy! He’s back!”

She can do nothing but gape at Maya for a long moment. Then her friend is flapping her hands at her and telling her to get a move on before it’s too late.

“He’s here?” she asks dazedly.

“Yes! He’s waiting for you in the garden.”

Clarke turns then to look out of the window and she sees him there, his tanned skin glowing as if it’s a beacon for her.

Scrambling to her feet, she rushes down the stairs and out of her palace and skids to a halt in front of him.

“You’re back,” she whispers reverently.

He grins at her and says, “I told you I would check in on my garden.”

Her happiness dims at his statement. Of course, he was only back for a short visit. For a brief, shining moment, she had thought that he might be back for good – for her.

However, she will take as much of him as he can get and so she gives a weak attempt at a smile, and says, “As you can see, I haven’t _killed_ anything.”

“I can see and I’m impressed,” he replies teasingly before he tilts his head at her enquiringly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she says brightly and really there isn’t. She hadn’t expected him to return at all, so even a small space of time with him was more than she had hoped for. “Come on, I know Charlotte will be pleased that you’re back. She’s been asking about you.”

“Clarke,” he says, grabbing her hand and stopping her from walking. “Don’t you want to know what is happening on the ground?”

She really doesn’t. She cannot bear to hear about how happy he is to return to his meadow and his friends. She will take any time that she can with him, but she doesn’t want to know about what he does when he is away from her.

“Not really,” she says, trying to be off-hand, but she can hear the deep sadness in her voice so she bets he can too. Desperately trying to avoid the conversation, she squeezes his hand once and then tries to let go and lead him into the fields where most of the shades spend their time.

However, he clings on and tugs insistently until she turns to face him once more. “I saw Heda,” he says.

“You did?”

“My sister demanded an audience with her and insisted that she overturn her decision to gift me to you.”

“And did she?”

“Yes.”

Although it is the right decision, Clarke cannot control the pain that rips through her chest. She may not have had plans to demand Bellamy’s return, but the option had still been there.

“Your sister must be something special to get Lexa to overturn a decision.”

“You could say that she’s a force of nature,” he quips.

Frowning, Clarke looks at him in bemusement.

“She’s the goddess of nature and she has not been happy about my disappearance. My nymphs told her what had happened and Heda’s decision. Octavia has petitioning for my release ever since. Her anger at my fate caused the weather to grow cold, the crops to fail and the land to become barren. Heda was on the verge of coming to see you when I returned.”

“She must be happy to have you back,” Clarke manages to say in a choked voice.

Bellamy’s hand tightens around hers and he brings her closer to him. “I would not say that,” he murmurs. “Heda may have agreed to demand that you return me, but _I_ did not.”

It takes Clarke a small moment to work out what he has said and when she does, she gasps, “What?”

“I have struck a deal with O. All I need now is for you to agree.”

“A deal?”

“I will spend six months above ground and six months here with you. O is not happy and has told me that during my time here, she will cause my plants to die so that she knows I will come back.”

“You’re going…You mean…six months!” Clarke mutters incoherently before the joy of his words spread through her, making her grin at him crazily.

“You agree?” he asks a little anxiously.

Flinging her arms around him, she buries her face in his neck and says, “Of _course_ I agree. I thought I had lost you forever.”

He tips her chin up. “I told you that you just needed to give me the option of deciding what I want for myself. Giving me the option to spend time here did not always mean that I was going to say no. I like it here and I love _you_ , Clarke. All you needed was some faith.”

He kisses her then and she radiates so much happiness in that moment that she feels the relief that her joy spreads across her kingdom.

She may be Wanheda, but death is not all that she commands.

 


End file.
